


Fall

by TheSadisticMunchkin



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canonical Character Death, Crying, Curt needs all the hugs someone please give it to my poor gay son, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving On, Spies & Secret Agents, Tatiana is amazing, There's lots of crying im sorry, i'M NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THAT CURT MOVED ON SO QUICKLY NO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSadisticMunchkin/pseuds/TheSadisticMunchkin
Summary: Personal history does have its benefits and Owen Carvour is just glad that he knows a little bit too much about Curt's





	Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I HAD FEELINGS
> 
> SO I PUT THOSE FEELINGS INTO WORDS
> 
> ENJOY THE MONSTROSITY I DECIDED TO CREATE

            Maybe he was imagining the soft sheets beneath him and the constant beep to his left. Maybe he was imagining the sun streaming through the windows and the stinging pain from his left arm all the way to his right foot. Maybe he was imagining the mask resting atop his nose and mouth. Maybe he was imagining the stark white ceilings glaring at him with the faint stench of tobacco emanating from beside him.

 

            However, he was sure he didn’t imagine an explosion. He was sure he didn’t imagine that banana peel that led him to his ultimate demise. He was sure he didn’t imagine Curt running away and leaving him there for dead. He didn’t imagine any of that. So he should be dead; he _must_ be dead. But why was he still hurting and why was that tobacco smell getting stronger and stronger each minute he stirs himself awake?

 

            “Owen?”

 

            His eyes snap wide open and he turns his head to the side to see who called his name. “Owen, thank god you’re awake! I-I thought I lost you back there.” If Owen were imagining things, it would have been pretty difficult to imagine the emotion he heard in the cracked voice. He definitely didn’t want to imagine the hand that wrapped around his own. They were bigger than his but they were shaking a terrible bit.

 

            “C-Curt?”

 

            “Jesus, man, don’t strain yourself. You took a nasty fall back there, you know…” Those same shaking hands were now helping him into a sitting position and he groaned a little in pain. He gripped the hand that was still in his own but Curt didn’t give a shit. “Grip’s still strong. I’d like to think of that as a positive.” If Owen didn’t have a raging headache, he would have rolled his eyes at Curt’s pathetic attempt at playing doctor. At least he could see that he was trying.

 

            “The hotel didn’t exactly have other options besides soup and _more_ soup so I got you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts still on. I don’t know how you can stand that shit but anything for you, I guess.” The aforementioned meal was placed on his lap on a cold plate and Owen was a little concerned whether or not the bread was still edible. There was also the little matter where he couldn’t even…

 

            “ _…Move!_ Oh shit, right you can’t move your left arm. Here, let me get that for you.” The way Curt fussed over him was a little amusing and Owen couldn’t help but stare at the little curl that fell across his forehead that made him look like Superman. His toned chest was hidden behind a thin blue shirt and it was rising and falling with each heavy breath Curt took. Curt was a terrible doctor but at least he looked attractive while doing so.

 

            “Dude, you haven’t spoken to me since you woke up. Can you say something? Maybe along the lines of _damn it, Curt, you’ve fucked up big time since you almost killed your partner! Why the fuck do you keep doing this?”_ The way Curt’s voice seemed to crack on the last few badly British accented words told Owen that he probably already heard those words and from Cynthia no doubt. “When the _fuck_ will you get your shit together?”

 

            “Curt?” His voice was hoarse from lack of use but he was able to project it enough for his partner to hear him. He removed the oxygen mask around his mouth to make sure Curt could really hear his voice. “Did Cynthia say all those things to you?”

 

            “Yeah? So what of it? She’s right anyway.” Curt stood back up and lit another cigarette. A large cloud of smoke jettisoned out of Curt’s puckered lips and Owen could do nothing but stare. Owen was never really a fan of how Curt would try to impress him with large rings of smoke but he paid attention nonetheless. Who else would slap away a 5th cigarette from his hands? The man was clearly prone to hurting himself and others around him.

 

            Which doesn’t particularly explain why Owen sticks around him.

 

            (He knew the exact reason why he sticks around him.)

 

            “Curt,” When his partner didn’t look back at him, he reached out his hand and softly gripped Curt’s arm. He rubbed his thumb along the expanse of skin given to him and he gently pulled Curt back to sit on the edge of the bed. “Stay there for a bit, love. The sun is a bit too bright for my taste this morning.” He did his best to scoot a little closer to Curt for that little bit of warmth he always seemed to have and leaned the side of his head against his wide back. “Now, let it out.”

 

            “Let what out?” Owen snorted and unknown patterns against Curt’s back.

 

            “Let yourself out of the closet, of course. No you big doofus let whatever it is you’re thinking out into the open. No one else is here to listen to you but me.”

 

            “Is that a good thing?”

 

            Owen moved his one good hand to twirl Curt’s hair around his fingers and he hummed. “It’s always a good thing. Now, are you going to come and cuddle with me or are you going to just look dramatically out the window for another ten minutes?” For a minute, Owen thought Curt chose the latter but eventually his partner shifted their positions on the bed. Owen’s head was now comfortably lying on top of Curt’s chest and he could properly hear his heartbeat.

 

            “Stop it.” Owen mumbled as he wrapped his good arm around Curt’s torso.

 

            “S-Stop what?”

 

            “Feeling guilty. I can hear it in the way your heart beats. Even if I say it a lot, I know that you won’t really be the death of me.”

 

            “But we’re _spies,_ Owen. I might end up killing you eventually.”

 

            “So what? I know where your heart lies and your heart is good to me, Curt. That much, I am certain.” Owen felt his heart start to beat at the same pace as Curt’s and he rubbed his cheek against his chest in reassurance. “Even if you _did_ leave me back there to die, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

 

            “Really?”

 

            “Really. Thank you for saving me, love.”

 

            Curt looked down at Owen; slightly distracted by the way his hair fell into his face when he rubbed his cheek on his chest. “Don’t mention it. Anything for you.” He gave in and tucked the few wayward strands of hair behind Owen’s ear and got a satisfied hum in return. Owen’s voice was deep and soothing and it sent pleasant ripples through Curt’s veins. He wished this entire thing could last, just him and Owen against the world.

 

            That’s how it’s always been.

 

_“Curt?”_

* * *

 

            “Curt? Wake up, Curt!”

 

            He was jostled awake by a pillow to his head and he pointed his gun blindly at the thing that was attacking him. “Damn it, Curt! Put your gun down! My siblings are in the other room.” Curt blinked his eyes once, twice, maybe a few several times until his vision cleared up completely. He wasn’t in a hotel room in Russia. He wasn’t holding an injured Owen in his arms. Tears started to gather in his eyes when he realized everything was just a dream.

 

            “I-I’m sorry. I just… instinct, I guess?” Tatiana raised an eyebrow at him but sat down next to him nonetheless. He could feel her dark brown eyes burning holes into the side of his head but she didn’t say anything for the next 5 minutes. She just allowed him to breathe which was something he really needed to do at the moment. She didn’t touch him, which he was grateful for but she did scoot a little closer to examine him.

 

            “Was it a bad dream?” She asked after a few minutes of silence and Curt shook his head no. She furrowed her eyebrows a bit at the rivulets of sweat rolling down his forehead and the way his hands clenched dangerously around his gun. “Well, what was it?”

 

            “It was a… pretty good dream actually.”

 

            “Then why did you almost shoot me when I woke you up?”

 

            “It’s... “ He looked at Tatiana for a bit before he sighed. “It’s kind of a complicated dream.”

 

            “Talk to me about it, then.” Curt didn’t notice how cold the room was until Tatiana draped a thin blanket around him. It took him quite a while to wipe away whatever tears were still in his eyes and Tati was wonderfully patient to let him weep. That dream was nice. It was almost _too_ nice. An alternate universe where he could have saved Owen and saved the world a lot more times together didn’t sound so awful.

 

            If he saved Owen, he would have never become the Deadliest Man Alive. If he saved Owen, they would have gone on more missions together, foiling every master plan to destroy the world one henchman at a time. If he saved Owen, he would have been able to hold him longer, kiss him more times than one, maybe even retire from the agency and settle down with him. If he saved Owen, everything would have been fine.

 

            So why the fuck was he crying?

 

            “It-It was about Owen.” He finally said.

 

            “Ah.”

 

            “I saved him.”

 

            “Ah.”

 

            “I never killed him.”

 

            “What a pleasant dream.”

 

            “It was.”

 

            “Then why did you scream?”

 

            “I screamed?”

 

            “You’re _quite_ the screamer.”

 

            _Shit._ Curt turned to Tatiana, an answer on the tip of his tongue but ultimately he sighed and gave her an apologetic smile. Her quirked eyebrow told him that it probably looked more like a grimace than a smile. He turned away again and the dimly lit room’s silence was broken by the thunderstorm outside that started a few moments ago. He watched the raindrops slide down the fogged up glass with a million and one thoughts circling his mind.

 

            Tatiana stayed blessedly quiet again, watching the thunderstorm get louder beside him, and he bit his lip before saying anything. “Thanks again for letting me stay at your family’s safe house. Your mother and my mother _really_ should never meet.”

 

            “Oh but I think it hilarious if they do.” Tatiana teased while casually bumping his shoulder with her own. When Curt didn’t so much as give a tiny smirk, Tatiana softened and placed her hand on top of his shaking ones. “It is what friends do for friends, is it not?” Curt looked at her hand with his bottom lip in between his teeth before looking up at her. She had an expression that told him that Tatiana is still confused on how to be a friend. He gave her hand a squeeze to non-verbally tell her she’s doing a great job.

 

            “Thank you, _friend.”_ Curt gave her a more sincere smile this time and he could tell by the way her shoulders relaxed that she was on edge despite her cool demeanor. She expressed more these days, what with being closer to her family now and not worrying whether or not the Soviets would get her. Tatiana deserves every happiness that was taken from her by the KGB. She smiled more, teased more casually, and, though she has been keeping herself away from missions, she was stronger than ever.

 

            “You still never told me why you screamed.”

 

            Curt freezed up and shook his head fervently. “How about we leave it?”

 

            “How about we don’t.” Tatiana abruptly stood up and placed her hands on her waist. She turned to face Curt again but this time with a more determined expression. “You had good dream about your ex-lover but you screamed. That does not make any logical sense.” Her tone was harsh but her volume was soft as her siblings were still sleeping. “Curt, please talk to me. Believe it or not, I _care_ about you and if you keep all your feelings bottled up it will be dangerous to your health.”

 

            “Yeah well do you know what else is dangerous?” Curt stood up too until he was face to face with Tatiana. Her stance was unwavering and her glare was as sharp as the knife hidden in her sleeve. “Trying to take down _CHIMERA_ with only a few poison darts and twelve bullets at a time is dangerous. Avoiding grenade explosions while carrying an injured hostage to safety is dangerous. Continuing to fight one of Owen’s closest allies while my leg is bleeding a fucking _river_ is pretty _god damn dangerous.”_

 

            “Get to the point, Curt.”

 

            “The point is I’ve been fighting _CHIMERA_ for only 5 months and I’m already so fucking _tired._ There is _so much_ that Owen has done while I thought he was dead that I never imagined in my wildest nightmares. There is so much that _shouldn’t even exist_ if I hadn’t been the coward that I was and saved him if I had the chance--” His voice cracked at the last word and he could feel his tears fall faster than the rain beating against his window outside.

 

            Tatiana was just about to say something when a soft knock on the door caught her attention. A small, heavily accented, voice permeated the dead air of the room. Tatiana immediately tended to her little sibling; speaking in rapid Russian that Curt had no energy to properly translate in his head. _“Pochemu ne spish'? Spi, dorogaya.”_ Curt continued to stand there in the middle of the room, hopefully until Tatiana and her sibling left him alone.

 

            But that was not the case as the tinier voice continued to ask Tatiana more questions until finally Curt was able to breathe in a more normal pattern. _“Idi spat', malyshka.”_ Curt managed to say and smiled at the carbon copy of Tatiana standing shyly at the doorway. “Go do what your sister says, Alexei.” He reverted back to his American accent and little Alexei tilted his head to look at him with the same dark brown eyes his sister has.

 

            _“Spokoynoy nochi sestra.”_ Alexei said after a few more seconds of staring at Curt. Then he spoke with a perfect American accent that threw even Tatiana off guard. “Goodnight, Curt.” His little feet padded away, the worn out, gray, stuffed cat dragged behind him as he finally left the two of them alone again. When Tatiana was sure that her brother has gone back to his bedroom, she stood back up and faced Curt.

 

            “You’ve already rubbed off on him. I think he likes you.” She teased and the tension in the air lifted slightly when Curt laughed. Tatiana laughed with him but she noticed that he was still having restraints. “Would you like to go and visit him? That is the real reason why you came here to us, ya?” Curt’s laughter stopped abruptly but he didn’t say anything in response. In Tatiana’s experience, she knew silence from Curt meant that she was right.

 

            “It is alright, Curt. Go get your coat. We leave once storm lets up.” She didn’t say another word when she left his room. Curt stared at the door she walked out of before he allowed himself to walk back to the bed at the corner of the room. His leather jacket hung neatly on a hanger against the door of the empty closet across from him and he stared at it until well past the storm has cleared. When Tatiana returned with her own jacket draped around her shoulders, he was still staring at it.

 

            She leaned against the doorframe to allow Curt to gather his thoughts before she cleared her throat. He looked up and she smiled at him reassuringly. “You ready to go?”

* * *

 

_**Friedhof Fluntern**_

**_Zürich_ _, Switzerland_**

            The rainfall coated the grass beneath him in a thin layer of moisture that made the little green blades glimmer in the moonlight. Their breaths were tiny clouds of smoke wisping themselves into the night sky. Tatiana led him down the rows of tombstones in the cemetery without saying a single word. On one hand, he was grateful for the comfortable silence they shared. On the other hand, he was desperately hoping for someone to ridicule him for picking such a beautiful cemetery to bury him in.

 

            And in the country where he bought Tatiana’s safe house.

 

            How _fucking_ pathetic was that? He could already hear Cynthia snorting her disapproval. However, something deep within him told Curt that he did himself right by burying Owen here. It was such a well thought out location; it was a country him and Owen never went to for a mission whether they were together or not. Switzerland was clean on both their records so it seemed fitting that Curt buries him in one of the finest cemeteries Switzerland had to offer.

 

            Despite the events that happened months ago, though it was painful to admit it, he still loved Owen and he didn’t think he could ever love another the way he loved him.

 

            When they finally reached the edge of the cemetery, where the tombstones littered the lot closest to the quaint little chapel where widows and widowers go to weep, Curt could already make out Owen’s final resting place. Tatiana stopped walking but he continued on, his legs not stopping until he stood in front of the tombstone that he crudely engraved himself.

 

**_Here lies_ **   
** OWEN CARVOUR**   
**A limey bastard with a heart of gold**   
**set on the wrong path**   
**1932 -1961**

 

            “Hi, Owen.” He managed to say before he dropped to his knees and scooted closer to the tombstone. He sat in front of it with pants likely messed up from the dirt but he didn’t care.

 

            _I’m sorry about Owen. I know you two were close._

 

He pulled his knees to his chest.

 

            _It’s not easy burying your ex-lover returned from the grave to kill you._

 

The tears he had been holding in throughout the trip started pouring out the corners of his eyes.

 

            _What about our secret? The times we shared? The feelings we had… for each other?_

 

His lips quivered and he repeated the words _I’m sorry_ in his mind until it became white noise.

 

            _That secret died the night you left me for dead. Here’s some advice, Curt; It’s called moving on._

 

He closed his eyes and shook his head violently. His shoulders trembled as he listened to the voices echoing all around him.

 

            _Do give it a try._

 

            “I _can’t,_ Owen. I-I’m _trying so hard…”_ He couldn’t control the volume of his cracked voice as his sobs wracked his body. The pain in his chest grew until it was almost unbearable. He may seem cool and collected after everything has happened but in reality this is what he is. He was still holding on to the fact that _he and Owen loved each other despite living in a world where no one could understand them but each other._ He believed that. _Owen believed that._ He wouldn’t have kissed him back if he didn’t.

 

            “Moving on from you, no matter the _bullshit_ you did, is the hardest thing I could e-ever do. Take d-down syndicates? I can do that. Rescue hostages in abandoned w-warehouses? I’m on it. B-But moving on from you? From what he had together? _From what I believed was the best thing that has ever happened to me?_ Don’t you _fucking dare_ ask me to move on from that, love.” He broke down completely at the little pet name Owen used to call him and he couldn’t speak anymore.

 

            He felt Tatiana’s hands on his shoulders as he continued to cry in front of Owen’s tombstone. He hasn’t let out this much emotion in months, which was something Tatiana told him only moments ago that was unhealthy. He was drained by the time his sobs turned into somber hiccups. Tatiana rubbed circles on his back until he could appreciate the cold, crisp, air that surrounded them. He should have done this months ago.

 

            “I-I’m sorry you had to see that.” Curt finally managed to say to his friend but the redheaded Russian only gave him a sympathetic smile.

 

            “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know how much Owen means to you. You had to let it out at some point.”

 

            “After seeing that mess, do you think I could do it?” He asked her; desperate for an answer he didn’t think he could bare to accept.

 

            Tatiana looked at him in confusion. “Do what?”

 

            “L-Let go? You told me once that I had to learn to let go from what has happened and--” He was suddenly engulfed in a hug that he hasn’t experienced in a long time. Though Tatiana was small, her embrace was warm and consumed him to the point of tears. He hugged back and buried his face into her shoulder.

 

            “You take _all_ the time you need, Curt. Let go when you feel like it.”

 

            The weight of her words made him cry again and he hugged her tighter, though she didn’t mind. They sat there for what felt like hours as Curt cried into her shoulder. He knew he wasn’t ready. Everyone thought he has moved on but he was far from that. Owen wasn’t just a great spy and his partner, Owen was **_his_** _partner._ Owen, though he tightened his grip around Tatiana’s waist at that, was the _love of his life._ How could he move on from that so quickly?

 

            The answer was _he couldn’t._ No matter how many years passed by or how many _CHIMERA_ allies he would destroy, there would always be that part of him that considered Owen the best thing that ever happened to him. In the midst of the cold war or any other war that precedes it, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to visit his grave without crying. Yet he knew that despite the hardships and bloodied suits he would go through, he was still a spy.

 

            And a spy’s work is never done.

 

            Yet he allowed himself to just be a lost lover, crying atop the grave of Owen Carvour. For today, he allowed himself to let his guard down. For today, he let himself hug his friend close and weep.

 

            For today, he let himself fall.

**Author's Note:**

> I will never believe that Curt moved on just like that. That shit takes time. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos would be very much appreciated <3


End file.
